


The Girl in the Museum

by Spencebox



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Anger, Attempted Murder, Biracial Character, Braids, Cause biracial peeps need love too, Combat, Culture, Dora Milaje - Freeform, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Groping, Hatred, Heart Shaped Fruit, Jabari Tribe - Freeform, Kick Ass Women, Kissing, Literally Erik Killmonger, Love, Making Out, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Erik, Possessive T’Challa, Punching, Rage, Rough Sex, Scars, Sex, Sibling Love, Sweet Sex, Unrequited Love, Verbal Abuse, Wakanda, Wakanda forever, all the sex, curly hair, cursing, hand holding, love handles, lying, the king is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencebox/pseuds/Spencebox
Summary: Makayla had been perfectly happy in her crappy Oakland apartment, perfectly content with no money and a douchebag neighbor that said she snored too loud. But when Erik Stevens came back into her life, everything changed.She went from having little to no human contact, to having the most gorgeous man on this planet sitting on her dirty musty couch. And that would’ve been fine and dandy, if only he would stop asking questions about Erik and get the bodyguard to stop pointing a spear at her.





	1. A Day at the Museum

**Author's Note:**

> 1 out of the 2 Black Panther fics I plan to write and I hope you enjoy it!

Four pairs of eyes gazed at the sky, the retreating green lights in the clouds leaving them with more questions than could be answered. Two of the boys looked down, minds back at the basketball game at hand, wondering who could shoot the best basket from the farthest distance. The girl looked away after a moment, staring at the boy who’s eyes were stuck to the apartment building.. His small hands dropped the ball as his feet propelled him to the building, pushing through the glass door and running up the stairs, his name just a cry from the girls lips.

“ERIK!”

She ran after him, leaving behind her confused friends and trying to catch up. She stopped at what she knew was Erik’s room, pausing at the open door. Her steps were small and quiet as she entered, small eyes searching for her young friend. Her hands covered her mouth, holding back a solemn cry at the sight of Erik’s father, on the ground, bleeding claw marks in his chest. His eyes were closed, his chest was still and the only sound in the small Oakland apartment was Erik’s sobs.  
  
“Erik…?” His head shot up, desperation and sadness shining in his young eyes. He stood, resting his father’s head on the carpeted ground, walking to the closet and sliding it open, hands reaching for a book that looked to be older than time. He opened it, skimming through the pages and stopping at one that had a gold necklace laying on it, a intricate ring at the end on the chain. As Erik picked up the chain and put it around his neck, the young girl looked at the page, trying to decipher the unknown language. She succeeded on only one word,

_Wakanda_

“Dad said they have the most beautiful sunsets, do you think we can see them one day? Together?” Tears streamed down both of their faces she nodded, putting her friends head on her chest. Her fingers rubbed his skin, taking no notice of the neighbor standing at their door.

Erik was 9 when his father was murdered, and was sent to live with his friend Mikayla, who’s parents only saw the anger and rage that he held in his heart. They had been more than happy to send him to MIT, wanting him to better himself and also be rid of him. Once he had graduated, he had had the choice of going back to Mikayla, to a house of rules made just for him with no chance of freedom.

Eric had joined the military after college, throwing away his life as Erik Steven’s and becoming Erik Killmonger, known for murdering in the field without a second glance. Though he kept his roots close, he left behind the one woman who saw light in him, and found the darkness with Klaue.

* * *

  
Makayla groaned at the banging, throwing the pillow over her head and willing it to stop, though it continued on even louder. She grumbled and stood from her bed, opening the door with a snarl on her lips. Her eyebrows rose in confusion at the sight of her neighbor.

“Some asshole downstairs is looking for you and keeps ringing my bell. Deal with it so I can get back to bed.” Mr. Jameson glared as he spoke and stomped back to his room, slamming the door. She grumbled and slipped on her slippers, walking down the dirty hallway and going down the stairs. She opened he two steel doors, wanting to slam them back closed when she caught sight of who it was.

“Go away Erik! I made it perfectly fucking clear last time that I’m done with your ass!” She used all her strength to close to door but a perfectly clean black boot slipped in before it could close. Dark skinned fingers slipped into the opening and pried open the door, revealing her childhood friend Erik Stevens, with a bleeding wound on his chest.

“Shit!” She looked around before pulling him in and slamming the door. “Only you Erik, only you would show up in the middle of the goddamn night bleeding like a dumbass, I hate you sometimes man.” Erik chuckled, though grunted and held his chest. They made it back to her room, Erik sitting on the couch and Makayla getting her first aid kit from the bathroom. He pulled off his jacket and grunted as he pulled off his shirt, swiping away a bit of the extra blood.

She returned with haste and sat on her knees, wiping down his chest with wipes, putting a bandage over the clotting wound.

“What was it this time Erik? Drug bust or are you still with that crazy guy who believes in fairy tales about third world countries with indestructible medals?” She flopped back onto her ass when Erik stood, a look of anger on his face.

“Wakanda isn’t a fairy tale and it ain’t no third world country and you know that. Don’t say stupid shit.” She raised an eyebrow and stood.  
  
“Who the fuck do you think you are Erik? You disappear for years, years Erik, with no word of where you’ve been, just to show up in the middle of the night with bleeding wounds! You have no right to stand in my apartment asking for my help and talk to me like you have anything to say but I’m sorry!” Her chest was heaving as the words spilled out and Erik visibly deflated.

He walked towards her and pressed her head to his bare chest, letting her simply breath him in. Tears welled up in her eyes and her fisted hands felt his scars. Her fingers spread apart and traced the ones that lined his back muscles, wishing that this would never end.

“Let’s get you to bed, You can yell at me tomorrow.” Erik bent down ant lifted her up, walking to her bed and laying her down. He stood to leave, knowing his work tonight wasn’t done tonight. He was here for a reason. She turned on her side and spoke quietly, “Why are you here Erik?”

He breathed a sigh and spoke, “I need your help. I’m pulling off a heist in three days and Klaue says we need an extra person, and you’re all I have. And it ain’t no dangerous shit, I just need you to be a witness. Will you do it?” She thought about it for a moment, Why would they need a witness? She threw that thought away, willing to think about it later.

He waited a moment, his back facing her, his hands clenching her thin sheets in his fist. She turned to face his back and her hand skimmed his scars, “Where do I need to be?”

“Museum of Great Britain.” She jolted up at his words. Had getting shot somehow hurt his memory? She was living in this shithole of an apartment in Oakland because she had no money and he thought she could afford Great Britain?

“Are you serious Erik? Am I supposed to walk there, cause I can’t exactly get a ticket. I-“ She sighed, “I wanna help you Erik, but how?”

He stood and fetched his jacket, pulling out an envelope from the pocket. He walked back to her and gave it to her, raising his eyebrow when she did nothing. She opened it and nearly dropped it, there were a plane ticket and numerous hundred dollar bills.

“Erik I can’t take this….” He scoffed and stood from the bed, pacing back and forth. His hands were clenched, arm muscles bulging at his sides. “I don’t even know why I came here… I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

She sighed and hung her head. Erik was her weakness, and they both knew that. She would do anything for him, it had been that way since they were kids and nothing had changed. Erik used her like a rag doll and she couldn’t tell him no. And tonight was no difference. She saw the plane ticket was for tomorrow morning, the returning one in four days. Racking her mind, she came up with no reason to tell him no.

“I’ll do it Erik. But this is the last time…”

He smiled and rubbed his hands together, getting off the bed and throwing on his shirt and jacket. He turned back to look at her as he made his way out, though stopped, running back and enveloping her in a hug. He held her, tightly, before running out into the night, leaving Mikayla alone with her plane tickets.

One plane ticket later, Makayla was in London, staying in a crappy hotel down the street from the Museum. The room was gross, but it was all she could afford, even with the money Erik had given her. She had practically collapsed when he had arrived at the hotel, waking up when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. She wiped her eyes, looking out the dirty window at the bright sun and she grabbed for her phone.

_History Museum down the street at 11. Watch. Don’t be late._

She sighed and checked the clock, 10:20. She went to the beat up bathroom and took out her bandanna, running her fingers, as best as she could, through her curls. She wiped off her face and sighed in anger, hating that she was actually about to assist Eric in what was probably a robbery. But she was weak when it came to Eric, unable to tell him no, even if it was for his own good. Cupping her hands under the faucet, she splashed water on her dark skinned face, wishing she was back in Oakland, at least that shitty place was home.

Promptly at 11 she stood in the Museum in the African artifact section, standing next to Erik himself, looking at the ancient artifacts. They simply stood there, presumably waiting for something to happen. Mikayla looked around, looking into the eye of the security camera, wondering if it was even working.

“Hello, How can I help you?” A preppy, neatly dressed white woman, probably a historian, came over to where they stood and spoke to Erik. And Erik gave her a smile and they spoke back and forth about the artifacts, though Mikayla could see the front that he was putting up, one that she found she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of.

They walked away, out of hearing reach of Makayla, though she did look when she heard Eric’s voice get louder and angrier. She gasped as the woman collapsed, Erik telling people to get help and herself just watching. Paramedics rushed in and instead of helping people, started shooting.

When one pointed a gun at her, ready to make her like the other dead pedestrians, Eric stepped in front of the gunman, saying something she couldn’t hear. Though when the gunman took of his mask, she wished she had never come.

It was Ulysses Klaue, and his eyes were on her.

“So you’re Erik’s girl eh? Not bad for a prude, am I right boy?!” Klaue laughed at his words and Eric cracked a smile, though the fun ended fast when Klaue walked to one of the artifact cases and his right arm, which was apparently not an arm but a death of some sort, blasted open the box.

Inside the broken box was a mask and an axe, neither worth much for selling. Though Klaue clearly thought differently, as he picked up the axe, smelling it before cackling like a maniac.  
  
“Pure Vibranium my lad, already got a buyer for this lovely lady. Let’s get outta here.” Erik nodded, though grabbed the mask on his way out, before nodding at Mikayla and running out, Klaue on his tail, the crazy man yelling a ‘Bye Love!’ her way.

She walked out of the museum, narrowly missing the police showing up, not wanting to have to think of a cover story. She sighed when she was in the safety of the shitty apartment, deciding to stake out until her flight back to Oakland, wishing she would never have to see Eric Stevens again. But something deep in her stomach told her that would never happen.

* * *

 

T’Challa sat on his bed, head hanging low. He had just defeated M’Baku of the Jabari tribe, his muscles feeling sore from the other leaders strength. Shuri had said it would take at least a few hours for him to stop feeling sore, but for now he should lay down, and stop worrying. But he was never one to listen. He made his to visit W’Kabi, wishing to speak to an old friend instead of being alone.

“What troubles you T’Challa?”

“Too many things to count my friend.” W’Kabi smiled at the sorrowful T’Challa, wishing to see a smile on the new kings face. Though those thoughts fled when their a sound from their wrist signaled an incoming call. T’Challa accepted the call, Okoye’s face appearing above his wrist.

She looked at T’Challa, “My King,” then to W’Kabi, “ My Beloved”, then back to T’Challa, “We need you back at the palace. An artifact containing Vibranium has been stolen and we believe it is connected to Klaue.”

Shuri, T’Challa and Okoye stood in the lab, trying to figure out what to do. Shuri had explained that the camera’s during the heist were rigged, and they only had a few seconds of actual footage of who was there.

Three sets of eyes watched the screen, the few second clip of a woman standing in front of an art exhibit, her eyes looking straight into the camera before looking away.

“What do we know about that woma-“

“Already done brother. I did a facial scan and her name is Makayla Jefferson. She’s 25, college graduate, even have her address. Nothing really sketchy if you ask me.” Shuri threw up a full length picture of Makayla, her wild hair and bright eyes making T’Challa smile. He thought for a moment, she could be working for Klaue, and could lead them right to him, but his gut told him that she was just an innocent caught in the crossfire.

“Okoye and I will pay her a visit, see what she knows.” Shuri turned to look at her brother, her eyebrows raised in mischief.

“Hmmm seems like you want to do more than see what she knows brother.” Shuri cackled and T’Challa and Okoye walked away, making a plan to visit Makayla Jefferson.


	2. Knock Me Down, But I Get Back Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all this is over, there really needs to be a Makayla Jefferson Appreciation Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am i going to address why I haven’t updated in months?
> 
> If you think I am, you are wrong. Hate me all you want for taking this long, but at least i updated now.

Even though it had only been three days, Makayla had never missed Oakland so much. She missed her lumpy blanket, she missed her old as shit fridge with a jar of pickles she didn’t like and a few pieces of deli ham that had gone suspiciously green. That rats that ran around her apartment at night would wonder where she had gone, but at least Mr. Jameson would finally get a few night of sleep. That man loved to complain about her too loud tv and incessant snoring.

Yet, as she stepped back into the place she called home, it felt wrong. It felt like something was missing, or just that something was wrong. She had barely made it three steps inside there was a banging one the door. She walked back and looked through the peephole, immediately regretting the action.

“You’re late on rent again Jefferson!”

Fuck.

It was the rude old landlady who went by Gertrude, and looked like a goddam Gertrude too.

She was small and frail, pointing her bony finger in everyone’s business like her input actually meant a goddam thing. Her back made her look like Quasimodo and her sneer could make children cry, yet she always found her crippled ass at her door.

The only reason she didn’t just give Gertrude the finger was because it was a rent controlled building and paying $460 a month for a living room, bathroom, kitchen and bedroom was too good to give up.

Makayla slumped forward and groaned as Gertrude banged again, “I’ll have it tomorrow Gertrude, I always do.” Makayla walked to the door and opened it, looking down at the old black woman, wishing she could just clock her upside the head.

Her cryptic finger pushed into Makayla’s cotton covered chest, “You kids always breaking the damn rules and doing what you want I swear this is why George left me, he likes the young ones with the asses bigger than they heads. And I said no men yet I see two crackers leaving your room yesterday when I came for the rent check. I only got one rule and you couldn’t even follo-“

Makayla’s blood ran cold as she tuned out Gertrude, taking a moment to look back at the place she called home. Who had been there? She was vaguely aware that Gertrude was still speaking about how much of a shitty tenant she was. She bent and put her hand on the old woman’s shoulder, looking in her eye with concern, “Can you tell me what the men looked like?”

Gertrude stopped, giving her a speculative look, “Tall suits, gold hair and sunglasses, looked pissed as hell.”

Before Makayla could speak again Gertrude held up a long brown finger, “You have till end of week for rent.”

She waddled away, muttering to herself about promiscuous teens and having no money. Makayla shut the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily doing her best to stop a panic attack. Two white men in suits had been here, doing god knows what. She racked her brain, trying to think of what they could have done. Everything looked in place, nothing stolen, but maybe that was what they wanted. Whoever had been there wanted her to think nothing was wrong, but she wasn’t that stupid.

She tiptoed to the lamp next to the couch and felt under the shade, smiling in victory when she felt a small round metal object. She pulled it to her eyes to inspect it and promptly crashed it between her fingers.

Her place had been bugged.

She tore apart her apartment, finding four more bugs and a voice recorder in the couch. She sat on the floor, looking at the destroyed machinery and thinking, who would want to bug a poor adults shitty place? Her heart sunk as it all made sense, her place ends up bugged after a robbery at a museum that she was at.

Makayla stood and ran to her bedroom, picking up her phone and scrolling through the contacts, clicking on Erik’s name. She waited with bated breath, each unanswered ring bouncing through her brain. She cursed when there was no answer, pressing his name again, tapping her foot with impatience. She rolled her eyes when she heard Erik answer with a grunt.

“Erik, Erik- Erik my place has been fucking bugged, my landlord saw some white guys leavin my place when I was gone and just- shit,” she ran her hands as best as she could through her messy curls,

“What if they saw me in London Erik? What if- What if they’re gonna arrest me? What the hell am I gonna do Erik, Help me! Please!”

At this point she was yelling into her phone, angry and fear running through her veins. It was a moment before Erik said anything, though it was really just a sigh.

“And the fuck am I supposed to do bout that? You a big girl, figure it out.”

Her heart dropped when he hung up, not wanting to believe that he gave zero fucks about her, but it was extremely believable. She didn’t even have a moment to wallow before there was yet again another knock at her door. She huffed and walked to it, opened the door and raised and eyebrow at the short white man giving her a smile.

“Look buddy, I don’t want what you’re selling.” She closed the door, grunting when he stuck his foot in at the very last moment, smiling at her through the crack in the door. He pushed it open with a surprising amount of strength, stepping into her apartment.

“Hello Miss, My name is Everett Ross and I’d like to have a word with you.” He was a small man, Grey hair and a suit with shoes that practically gave off a shine. He had an smile on his face and his hands were tucked in his pockets.

“Well Everett, I would appreciated it if you would get the fuck out of my apartment before I throw you out. In fact, if you don’t get yo ass outta here, I’m gonna have to call the cops. You want that man?” She spoke with a snarl and practically sneered when the smile stayed on his face.

He looked at his shoe and laughed a bit, “Well, it would be a bit redundant to call the police, seeing as they answer to me, but go ahead and try. I’ll wait.”

Her hand had been reaching into her pocket to get her phone but the man’s words had stopped her. She sighed, thinking over her options. She could literally pick him up and throw him into the hallway, or do what crazy people do and hear him out. Her nails dug into her hand as she realized she was never did make the most sane decisions.

Makayla motioned her arm to the couch, rolling her eyes when he remained standing.

“I’m Makay-”

“Makayla Jefferson. 25, College graduate, estranged parents that you haven’t seen or heard from in three years, no job and a jar of pickles in your fridge.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, as if he had done this before. “I know who you are, and frankly, what I’m doing here is your only concern. And I need to know why you were in London yesterday.”

Her eyes widened and she shot a quick glance to the door, trying to see if she could make a run for it.

“Do you know Ulysses Klaue? Can you tell me where his base of operation is?”

She remained silent, eyes cast at the floor. This was bullshit and she didn’t have to say shit.

“Okay, Okay, you want to do it like this, fine. Your choice.”

He reached into his back pocket and handed her a laminated card with a number on it, though she didn’t take it.

“Here’s my number, you have three days to call and tell me what you know before I have my men come and drag to the Raft for crimes against the State. And if you think finding our bugs will stop us…”

He walked to her, holding out his card, waiting for her to take it. A beat passed and he let it drop on the floor. He walked to the door and opened it, prepared to leave. He stopped through, turning to her once more,

“You’re wrong.”

The door slammed with a thud and Makayla was at a lose for words. She ran, full out sprinted like a marathoner going for the gold, to her room and threw open the closet door, grabbing the green suitcase and putting it on the bed. Sweat was dripping down her face from fear and panic, forcing her to throw all of her thick hair up into a messy bun that left curls running down her face.

She looked crazy, but she had every goddam right. Crazy white boys threatening to throw you in prison for info you don’t know can drive a bitch crazy.

 

* * *

 

“We shall arrive soon My King.” Okoye guided the aircraft to their location, an apartment building in Oakland. They had left Wakanda a few hours ago, a farewell to Ramonda and a knowing smirk thrown T’Challa’s way. The man had been silent through whole trip, his mind acting like a untamed hurricane. He was still reeling from the loss of his father, never truly having time to mourn before being thrown into another whirlwind of problems. At least Shuri had got him a new suit, though he stood by his old one.

He had watched as the suit covered the white dummy, gazing at the moving black material. He would never not be amazed at Shuri’s intelligence and her amazing designs. The new suit could absorb punches and throw back the energy. It was twice as amazing as his original suit, though he would never tell his sister that, and it all fit right into a necklace. It was perfect. He felt the thump of the aircraft landing and stood, waiting for Okoye to stand by his side.

“4th floor, room number 419.” He nodded and made to step down the ramp way. Okoye followed behind him, spear gripped in her arm. They walked quietly, quickly, and reached the door in no time. They took in the old worn out wooden door, the missing umber on the door, and the overall poor state of the floor.

“Remember, when you see her, do not freeze. “

T’Challa shook his head. “I never freeze.”

Okoye rolled her eyes and banged on the door with the base of her spear. They heard a yelp, followed by a curse, and a bit of muttering. They waited a moment before the door lurched open

Okoye took in the scraggly looking woman, an angry snarl on her face and hair brush gripped like a weapon in her hand. Her baggy shirt covered most of her frame, though she could spy a pair of shirts peeking out from the shirt. There were curls sticking out of her messy bun that had found a way to escape. Her eyes held a fire that made Okoye smirk, she was a strong one.

T’Challa, on the other hand, had diner exactly what Okoye said he would do. He froze.

The woman in front of him was much more than the hologram had truly shown. She was beautiful, but there was a fierceness in her eyes that his pants feel slightly tighter. Her wild locks were only slightly tamed in her messy updo, and he wondered what she looked like with it down. He held his breath and tried to give his best smile a he took in her bare legs, wanting to see if they were as smooth as they looked.

“Who the fuck are you?”

 

* * *

 

Was today just pick on Makayla for no reason day?

This day was really trying its best to test her, and she was starting too loose. In front of her were two people who looked like African royalty, or just somewhere in the category of way richer than her.

The bald headed woman wore an intricate but exquisite outfit, though the tall spear really threw her off. The man though, oh the man, he was gorgeous. He was tall, taller than her, and had a calm smile on his face. His somewhat connecting beard made him look wiser and more handsome than any beard she’d ever seen. He was just a meal of a man.

Though no matter how hot he was she still didn’t know why they were there, or why she couldn’t just be left alone to pack at find somewhere to hide before the little white man comes back.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The guards eyes grew sharp and she banged her spear on the ground, the resounding bang making Makayla step back into the not safety of her apartment. The she became less fearful as the man just smiled at her.

“I am T’Challa,” He motioned to the guard, “ And this is Okoye. And we just want to talk. Nothing more.” She looked from T’Challa to Okoye, to the spear and back to T’Challa, before sighing and letting them in. They stepped inside and she shut and locked the door. She sat on the couch and waited for them to speak.

“We have come to inquire about your whereabouts on-“

“Let me guess, you’re here to ask about the museum robbery. Look man, I’ve been interrogated one too many goddam times to today. So you and your friend can-“

“How dare you speak to my king that way, you insolent child!” Okoye pointed her spear to Makayla’s neck, the tip just touching her thin skin.

She watched as T’Challa spoke in harsh voice, in a language she’d never heard, which prompted Okoye to drop the spear.

“Please, just tell us what you know.”

She tried, she really did, to keep her temper under control, but this was the second tine she’d been questioned about London and it was just too much. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she hadn’t stole shit, all she had done was be there and now the goddam FBI and the African mob were there to question her. She stood and yelled, her face red with anger. 

“Why the fuck do you care? How does coming here and questioning me do anything for either of us than waste your time and ruin my day? Is it illegal to go to a museum cause then I ain’t even goin to one again! This is the second time, just today, that I’ve been questioned and threatened and I’m just about done with this. I need you to leave, like now.” By the end of her rant she had stood up, hands on her hips and anger in her eyes.  
  
Okoye was practically foaming at the mouth, wanting to knock some sense into the girl who was disrespecting her king. But she knew better than to attack, at least until T’Challa allowed it.

T’Challa could feel the two women’s anger in the room, and wanted to diffuse it as quickly as possible.

“General, give us a moment.” Okoye looked at him with wide eyes, before nodding, walking from the room to wait outside the door.

It was just T’Challa and Makayla, both staring at the other.

She moved first, sitting back down on her gross couch, hands cupping her head. She felt the tears coming, and did nothing to stop them.

T’Challa sighed and crouched down, looking at the teary face before him, wishing he could take her pain away. “I did not wish to cause you this anguish, but if you help me,” His hands cupped her cheeks and rubbed away her tears, “ I promise to help you.”

Makayla looked at T’Challa’s sad smile and decided that she was weak to a mans smile.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Tell me everything you know about Ulysses Klaue.”

Before she could say anything, Okoye walked in, stern look on her face. “T’Challa, they are planning an exchange in Buson. We must go.”

T’Challa look at Makayla and stood, nodding as he offered his hand to her.

“Have you ever heard of Wakanda?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to message or check out my Tumblr!: spencer-is-amazing.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Juggling this with 5 college classes is not easy, as well as my other Call Me By Your Name fics I can’t leave hanging. Comment and Kudos if you enjoyed! 
> 
> Check out my tumblr!
> 
> http://spencer-is-amazing.tumblr.com


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